


To Dine For

by b26 (B26)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cooking, Food, Hannibal is a Cannibal, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1399531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B26/pseuds/b26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Hannibal presents a daytime cooking show. It’s a delectable success. Same old Hannibal, brand new setting. He’s a true cereal killer. Should gratuitous food puns be counted as a warning? ‘Cause, yeah, that. And eating people too. But mostly food puns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Dine For

_Hannibal Lecter: licensed to grill. Everyone’s favourite chef is back for a third season of culinary treats. You’ll drool for his signature fifteen spice blend, you’ll sizzle for his de-lecter-able flambés, and you’ll die for his_ parfait _parfait ..._

A slight smile crept across Hannibal Lecter’s face as he skimmed through press releases for his show’s new season, which was due to start in a couple of weeks. He was at the TV station for the necessary pre-season meetings, hair and makeup consultations and brainstorming sessions to help create drafts for the season’s menus, not to mention getting to know the show’s new members of staff. Loathe as had initially been to admit it, Hannibal did enjoy the relatively newfound fame network TV had brought him. He maintained that much of the show was banal and beneath him - particularly the cheesy pun covered aprons he was forced to don for filming - but it was undeniably fun. He adored cooking and loved being able to showcase his trophies as they were immortalised on screen.

The show had exploded with popularity, breaking records as it went from being a local cable show to being broadcast to a wider audience which seemed to be growing by the episode. This had resulted in a complete overhaul in the staffing - Hannibal now had a personal assistant, a co-host he’d yet to meet, a new show show runner and there was talk of celebrity guest chefs to be discussed during today’s meeting. He’d won over critics and viewers alike, with the sole exception of food blogger Freddie Lounds. Notorious for her malicious reviews, she seemed to hold a personal grudge against a certain Mr Lecter and never failed to write damning reviews of each and every episode that had aired so far, often accusing him of showboating and creating meals the average viewer could never quite recreate at home. It was a truth more accurate than even Freddie knew.

The show had recently been renewed for the next two years, with each weekly installment bringing new recipes and ideas to the kitchen, and new corpses to the local morgue. He had a colourful resume to say the least: surgeon, therapist, chef, TV celebrity, serial killer. Bizarrely, serial killer wasn’t necessarily the most eclectic of his ... well ... _hobbies_. Nor was being a chef and TV celebrity the least logical leap his life could have taken two years ago.

Killers craved recognition, particularly geniuses like Hannibal. He murdered because he loved every second of it: the seductive dance towards their certain deaths that involved feigning trust before brutal betrayal, savouring every last scream as the victim ultimately gave in and allowed their body to be crafted into his design, and the organs that became trophies and oeuvres in their own right. He wasn’t a barbarian. No, not by any means. He was an artist, and human bodies were his canvases and meal platters: the torture was a delicious, eloquently drawn-out, slow cooked appetiser, the murder was a main course worth savouring, and the victim’s final meal was a sweet, sweet dessert that packed a real punch.

He was able to display his masterpieces of mutilation at crime scenes, yet he could take none of the credit. He could take trophies and create mouth watering meals, but none of that lasted. This gave him fame. Lord knew his alter ego had gained enough notoriety to last a dozen lifetimes, but this was different. Besides, there was something so tantalisingly sweet about becoming such a juxtaposition: master chef by day, mass murderer by night. He was pretty much the opposite of Batman.

The cherry on top of the already delectable sundae was the ironically perfect nickname he’d accrued through nothing more than chance rhyming: Hannibal the Cannibal. The network had spun this to add the catchphrase: haute cuisine to die for, and picked it after it had scored well with preview audiences who found it ironically entertaining a name. It was beautiful, poetic and delightfully twisted. The truth was right under everyone’s noses - fans and friends alike all delighted in saying it - and yet no one suspected a thing. What pleasure there was to be found from, quite literally, hiding in plain sight.

The idea had first come about two years ago, through a chance encounter with a former patient who had emerged to work at the local TV studio. He had asked Hannibal to attend a benefit where conversation with an executive had led to a dinner extravaganza and an order for a pilot. The rest was history.

After a half hour or so browsing through websites and seeing what everyone had to say about the return of Hannibal the Cannibal, there was a knock on his dressing room door. Time to meet the troops. Hannibal had always been articulate and as apt at entertaining people as he was at slaying them. Just as he had the past two years, he’d prepared a welcome speech full of motivation, friendship and which ended with an invitation for dinner at his place that weekend, prior to the first episode being filmed. It allowed him to flex his psychology skills; to truly figure out which crew members were worth their salt and which were expendable to the point they may end up appearing on the show, guest starring as an entree. Today was going to be a very good day.

He was greeted at his dressing room door by a young, pretty brunette dressed in trousers and a semi formal blazer, her hair caught in a loose bun.

‘Hi, I’m Abigail Hobbs, your new assistant. Well, technically I’m the intern, but I promise you I’m every bit as good as the pros. My dad used to be a show runner and he taught me everything I know.’ The girl introduced herself with a smile and a firm handshake.

‘Nice to meet you. I never forget a face and I’m sure I’ll grow to like yours. Between you and me, the interns always work harder anyway, as they have something to prove.’ Hannibal returned the smile and followed her to the show’s conference room.

They weren’t the first to arrive. Hannibal took a seat at the large table and gestured for Abigail to sit next to him. To help ensure equality and promote a friendlier atmosphere, the previous showrunner had insisted upon a circular table which always had a readily available supply of fruit, muffins and cakes. It was a design that worked remarkably well. The room itself was decorated with shots of the cast and crew and, obviously, shots of Hannibal’s dishes. It was very inviting, but the layout made it difficult for Hannibal to determine which new faces fit which particular profile. Aside from the co-host and showrunner, there was a new creative director and a culinary consultant to meet today. He was most intrigued to meet his co-host. Until now he had worked solo but an increase in funds had permitted the addition of a second host. This would allow for chemistry, friendly rivalry and so forth. Presumably the network had selected a beautiful, leggy blonde who know little more about food than the extent of a McDonald’s menu, but he could hope otherwise. Worst case scenario, if his new on screen companion turned out to be completely intolerable, he could easily kill them before giving them a final on screen appearance. Ah, the joys of having such a useful side hobby. The rude, useless and arrogant became little more than literal food for thought in the blink of an eye.

Many of the faces he was looking at were familiar ones - set design and makeup artist duo Jimmy and Brian sat near him, acting for all the world as if their budding romance wasn’t blatantly obvious to the least astute person in the room, perhaps even the whole planet. The immediately introduced themselves to Abigail and the three began chatting quite contently, allowing Hannibal to survey the room.

A new face caught his eye almost immediately. Hannibal looked up to stare at the man opposite him who seemed engrossed in the blueberry muffin he was holding. Shy eyes hid behind oversized and outdated glasses, awkward body language conveyed a multitude of social problems and fidgeting suggested a rather nervous disposition. The rest of the man’s attire was scarcely an improvement on the glasses and errant brunette curls of hair hinted that he was sporting a bedhead look that was nothing more than a man who hadn’t bothered to look in a mirror. He was good looking but lacked confidence, and seemed to be lost in his own mind. He sat alone,seemingly enraptured in his own company. Definitely a man who chose mind over matter - everything about him screamed that he was a scholarly type dipping his toes in new, unexplored waters. Hannibal was good at reading people, but couldn’t place where this newcomer would fit into the team. He would, however, love to get him on his couch and analyse him. There was obvious damage, and a plethora of layers and social issues to examine.

After a few minutes, the mystery brunette looked up with a start, unaware that Hannibal had been observing him. It was as if he was noticing for the first time that he was no longer alone in the room. The chef decided to take the initiative and stood up before crossing the room to sit next to him.

‘Hi. I’m Hannibal Lecter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

‘Yes, yes. Of course. I know who you are. I’m a big fan of your work.’ The man spoke softly. ‘I’m Will Graham, the new co-host. I guess we’ll be working together now.’

‘Yes, indeed. How thrilling.’ Hannibal masked his surprise, trying to wonder what on earth would drive such an introvert and socially awkward man to voluntarily appear on TV. It was, quite frankly, a mystery. One Hannibal couldn’t wait to get to the bottom of.

Well, this was going to be interesting. _Bon appétit_ indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much a work in progress. Other characters - both from the show and original - are yet to be introduced, as are emerging relationships. Tags will be added with new chapters. I hope you enjoy.


End file.
